


King John's War

by ashandcas (ashriddle4)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gay Panic, Homophobia, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lots of sex eventually though, M/M, Politics, Slow Burn, Soldier!Dean, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashriddle4/pseuds/ashandcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean is badly injured in the war his father, Conservative US President John Winchester, started in Syria, he arrives to live in the White House for the first time. With his dad on a crusade to overturn the Supreme Court's marriage equality ruling, Dean can't think of a worse time to be falling in love with a very male Secret Service agent named Castiel Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration just struck and with the election season in the US right now, the timing just felt right. The Dean/Gunner stuff is not a big part of the fic at all.

In the event of an assassination attempt, Castiel Novak of the President’s Secret Service had one job: step in front of the bullet. This was not the kind of job a mother dreamed of her son growing up to have, but as Castiel had never known his mother, the job was rather, well, suited for him. The only family he had left alive was his aunt Amara and she would have few qualms about pulling the trigger herself. Most days, however, Castiel spent like this, arms crossed and staring down an empty hallway.

“The ambassador of Norway is in the kitchen.” A voice jarred Castiel from his thoughts. _Garth._ He wore a goofy smile and a suit that would benefit from less polyester and a good tailor.

“Why is the ambassador of Norway in the kitchen?”

“He’s demanded to speak to Bobby - and he’s sampling the crab cakes. The _crab cakes._ ”

Castiel sighed. “Well, he can't speak with Bobby. Bobby has a meeting with the security council and then he’s got a thing with appropriations. And I’m not entirely certain when scheduling the activities of the west wing staff was added to my list of duties.”

Garth grinned. “Well, pal, you wear the tiara beautifully, but what I was really aiming for here was for you to get the ambassador of Norway out of the kitchen.”

“Right.” If it had been anyone other than Garth, Castiel would have felt embarrassed he overstepped.

Garth saluted him comically, trotted down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Castiel informed another guard that he was moving from this position and headed for the kitchen. Just another day - like any other.

* * *

 

Dean zipped up his pants. This was so fucking stupid. He should not have done this again. He knew better. They’d almost been caught last time. It wasn’t really _anything,_ Dean told himself. Just some rough hands in the dark. A mouth, a tongue, but just that once. Who could blame him? A man had needs and it wasn’t like he had other options.

Charlie was the only woman in their unit, and she was strictly into chicks. “One of them lesbians” as Dean’s father would always refer to them. Charlie had also happened to introduce herself to Dean that way with that glint of defiance in her eyes. Of course, like everyone, Charlie knew who Dean was, knew who his father was. Charlie had been standoffish at first, not that Dean blamed her. She seemed to expect that Dean would cause trouble for her. Of course, he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Now - two years later - Dean Winchester considered Charlie Bradbury his best friend in the world, and he knew she felt the same.

“That was fun,” Gunner said. He was still leaning against the barracks wall, pants undone.

“The fuck are you doing, man?” Dean hissed.

“I gotta let it breathe after.”

“Well, suffocate it, asshole. You wanna get caught?”

Gunner sighed and zipped up his pants. “Not particularly, but I am banging one of people magazine’s sexiest men. Maybe I wanna show you off.”

Dean was on Gunner in an instant, shoving him up against the wall. Hands gripped in his collar. “I don’t care if you’re gay, Gunner, and wanna tell the whole world. But I’m not. Leave me the fuck out of it.”

Gunner shoved Dean off him. Hard. Then shoved a hand down his pants. Gunner only had to squeeze down twice before Dean started to get hard again.

Gunner laughed. “I’m jealous of your refractory time, kid.”

“Not my fault you’re an old man.” Dean’s voice was low, wanting. He felt the loss as Gunner pulled his hand away.

“As much as I’d love round two, we’ve got that patrol.”

Gunner walked away and Dean called out in a small voice, “You wouldn’t actually tell anyone, would you?”

“I’ll take your secret with me to grave, okay Dean?”

Dean just nodded even though Gunner wasn’t looking in his direction.

* * *

 

It took Castiel a long time to understand why a good man like Bobby Singer would work for John Winchester. Bobby found out about Castiel and simply said, “I don’t give a flying fuck what people do in their personal lives. Love is love.” And that was that. Castiel was certain it wouldn’t be quite so simple if the President knew. The President probably wouldn’t fire Castiel, he could get backlash for that, but he’d definitely stop Castiel from helping Sam with his homework like he’d taken to doing. And sometimes Sam would go a whole week without speaking to anyone else. So as much as possible, Cas kept his love life to himself.

When it came to sex and romance, Castiel didn’t discriminate based on gender. He did, however, discriminate based on just about everything else. He’d broken up with his last partner, Meg, because she ate popcorn one kernel at a time. He’d left Ezekiel because he refused to use contractions. His best friend Hannah said he did it because he was afraid of commitment. Castiel let her believe it. It was easier than saying, “I just really can’t have a reason not to step in front of that bullet.”

Because that was thing about President John Winchester - everyone wanted to take a shot at him.

At this very moment, Castiel was standing six feet from a podium where the President was declaring his intention to overturn the Supreme Court ruling for marriage equality, now that the war he’d started had quieted down. Bobby had begged him not to do it. Castiel had stood outside the room for that. Had listened to Bobby try to talk the President down. Had listened to him fail.

Today, there were people in the large crowd booing. There were people in the large crowd cheering too.

Castiel just stood still and watched and waited.

* * *

 

Syria was, as Uncle Bobby would’ve described it, “hot as balls”. The sun blazed down on miles of sand and dirt. Dean, Charlie and Gunner had taken a rover about 20 miles west of camp. This was a routine patrol that led mostly through desert and one small village. It was part of his job Dean really didn’t mind.

Some of the kids would smile and wave as they drove by. If they had extra time, Dean, Charlie and Gunner would get out of the rover and kick a ball around. Dean had done his best to learn some Levantine, the local Arabic dialect spoken the village. He’d practiced with Charlie and they could carry on some simple conversations with the kids.

Most of the adults, however, and some of the kids, stayed far away from the US soldiers. Dean didn’t blame them. They all had their stories, their experiences, with had happened here in the last two years. There had been a war. King John’s War, as the locals called it.

One little girl in particular always drew Dean’s attention. She’d never said anything to him in all the times he’d been here, though Dean knew she spoke English because she was always sitting near one of the village’s only trees, back pressed against the bark, reading.

Today, she had a copy of _Bridge to Terabithia_ open and on her knobby knees. The sun was shining off its pages. Dean had hoped she’d like it. It was one of Sammy’s favorites.

Dean slipped away from the gaggle of kids playing soccer with Gunner and Charlie. He pulled a dog-eared copy of _The Magician’s Nephew_ (one of his favorites) out of his back pocket and laid it in the sand about 3 yards from the girl. She’d run away if he got too close, Dean had learned that months ago. She’d also never come over and get the book until after they left. Today, however, as soon Dean put down the book, the girl walked right up to him.

Her voice was quiet but it didn’t waver. “I know who you are.”

“You do?”

Dean frowned as the girl pulled something from the pages of her book. It was that damn Sexiest Men Alive article, all folded up and faded. Dean felt himself flush - he hated that thing.

“You are the prince.” 

The next thing Dean heard was gunfire.

* * *

 

His phone rang. Castiel wiped the sleep from his eyes. It was 2:30 in the morning.

It was Sam.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

“It-it’s Dean.”

Castiel felt cold all over. Dean was the President’s older son. They’d never met but he was 20, an enlisted man. A marine in Syria.

“What’s happened? Is he-”

“He’s alive, for now...he was hurt. Badly.” 

“Oh, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

Sam sniffed. “Dad and Uncle Bobby - they’re, I don’t know, I think they’re in the situation room. And I don’t want to be-”

“I’ll be right there, Sam.” Castiel was already out of bed and pulling on his clothes. Sam had lost his mother as a baby, and the President wouldn’t have been an adequate replacement. Castiel knew all Sam really had was his older brother.

Castiel wasn’t much one for praying but he sent one up for Dean anyway.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just disclaimer: I'm trying my very best with the war/military stuff but it's definitely not something I have a lot of personal knowledge about)

Dean woke up and for a second it felt like nothing had changed. He could almost feel the dry heat he’d become so accustomed to during his tour. He could almost hear the sounds of the other soldiers breathing. It seemed like any second he’d wake up.

He’d see Charlie.

He’d see Gunner.

_ Gunner.  _ That name was enough to pull him into the present. 

He had IVs in his arm. A thin blanket over his torso. A heart monitor was steadily beeping to his right. Panic rushed through him. Dean didn’t remember a lot, but he remembered enough.

_ Dean grabbed the little girl and ran toward the nearest building. She had a tight grip on his arm and her copy of  _ Bridge to Terabithia  _ was crushed between them.  _

Dean tried to sit up in the bed, but he couldn’t manage to pull himself into position. He was dizzy from the meds, but something else just felt off.

_ The girl buried her face into Dean’s side. She didn’t want to let go. A woman ran up to them and took the little girl by the arm. She slipped away from Dean easily then. He didn’t have time to acknowledge the woman or the girl again. Dean pulled out the only weapon he had directly on his person, a handgun,( and ran back out into the bullet spray. _

All his movement increased his heart rate too much and the monitor beeped loudly over and over. Moments later, nurses came running into the room. The sudden commotion rattled him enough that he noticed the guards standing just outside the doorway. They wore black suits and shiny black shoes. Not military but Secret Service. Dean should’ve expected.

“Lay back.” The nurse laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

Just yesterday he could run a five minute mile. Sitting up should not ‘overexert’ him. But today, today was not yesterday.

_ Gunner and Charlie moved tactically - just as they’d been taught, shepherding civilians into the buildings. They were surrounded on three sides, black-cloaked attackers raining fire from US-made weapons.  _

_ Charlie turned her gun on one of the attackers. Crack! And he fell back hard. She ducked and rolled behind a small shed when his partner directed the attack at her. Dean took his own shot at a man running straight at him. One shot and he missed. Ducked back behind an out-building.  _

_ Dean had to make this count. His father put a gun in his hands at 6 years old. It was as much a part of him as his fingers, his skin. He could do this. _

_ He took a deep breath, leaned out and fired. The man dropped. _

_ There were still seven of them, and Dean was nowhere near their rover and their automatic weapons.  _

Dean sat in his hospital bed and blinked. The nurses were asking him questions, but he wasn’t answering because this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t  _ actually  _ be there. 

When it came to war, there were the kinds of the moments a soldier survived. There were the kind of moments they shouldn’t survive and do- the  _ Black Hawk Down, Lone Survivor  _ stories. Then, there were moments like this one that a soldier, no matter his virtue, no matter his skill, didn’t get to walk away from. So why the fuck was he still breathing?

Dean closed his eyes, trying to remember how it could be possible that he survived, but he’d already seen all that was left to see. Everything else just went black.

A rogue tear slipped from his eye. Dean wanted to wipe it away, but found the tear dripping into his mouth anyway.

“The hell?”

That was when Dean noticed why he couldn’t sit up in bed, why he couldn’t wipe away the tear. His right arm from the shoulder down was gone.

* * *

 

Sam didn’t want to go into the hospital room alone.

“Please, Castiel.” Sam had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes were sleepy and ringed black. Castiel knew he couldn’t look much better; it had been a long night for everyone.

“Sam, I don’t even know your brother. I shouldn’t...intrude.”

Sam grabbed Cas’s arm. “Please. Dad’s still not here- and the nurses said. I can’t do this alone.” Sam looked so sad and lost. There were other Secret Service agents here, including Sam’s personal ones, but Sam hardly spoke to them - and Castiel did not know how to turn Sam down when he was alone like that.”

“O-okay.” Castiel didn’t entirely feel comfortable with the idea, but what difference would it really make?

Sam whispered, “Thank you” and pushed open the hospital room door.

It looked as hospital rooms tend to look. White and cold. He’d been in plenty as a child. His father was diagnosed with rare and aggressive form of liver cancer. Castiel remembered that time as six months of hell, and after he buried his father, his aunt Amara had reluctantly taken him in. He remembered that time as eight years of hell.

All that was visible of President Winchester’s oldest son was a patch of light-brown hair poking out from underneath an ugly pastel blue hospital blanket. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice cracked on his brother’s name. “Dean!”

“Sammy?” Dean rolled over and looked at his younger brother. His face was pale, his eyes a little red, as if he had been crying, but there was something, well, lovely and strong about him that left Cas looking a little too long.

“You’re not alone.” Dean’s voice was dry and tired.

“No, uh, this is Castiel, he’s a Secret Service agent - and my friend.”

Dean didn’t say anything just looked over at Castiel and gave him a little head nod. Castiel nodded back and put his hands in his pockets.

“Uh, Dean - the nurse said…” Sam looked down at his sneakers, one un-tied.

“Well you always used to say I’d lose my arm if it wasn’t screwed on.”

Sam frowned. “Dean-”

“I’m fine, Sammy.”

Castiel occasionally had this issue where he’d blurt out whatever was in his mind, especially when he was nervous, and he was very nervous at the moment. He felt like such an intruder and his lack of filter wasn’t helping. “Isn’t the saying lose your head?”

Dean snorted. “They must require humor extractions during Secret Service bootcamp.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked right at Dean. “I prefer that to the manners extraction they must do for Marines.” Castiel’s eyes got really big and his hand went to his mouth. “I’m so sorry, sir. It’s been a long night and I’m very-”

“It’s all right, pal. Had that one coming.” Dean looked over at Castiel. “Thanks for looking at for this little asshole for me.” There was something final in Dean’s voice that made Castiel realize it was time for him to leave.

“My shift starts in a few hours, Sam. I’ll let you and your brother catch up now.”

Castiel walked to the door and just before he stepped out he heard Dean say, “Good to meet you, Cas.”

He paused and looked back at Dean. “Good to meet you too.”

While Cas was walking out the hospital, a TV playing CNN caught his eye. 

_ Dean Winchester hospitalized - condition unknown. One soldier confirmed dead in attacks. _


	3. Chapter 3

_ _

The first time Dean left the hospital it was to go to Gunner’s funeral. As the President’s son, he knew he had to take Secret Service. It seemed strange to him, however. He’d spent the last several years of his life facing mortal danger and now some stiff in a suit was supposed to protect him?

Maybe it was weird but he’d requested that dude that had come to the hospital with Sam. Dean didn’t really want to go with a total stranger and he’d at least met the guy before. Besides, if Sammy liked him so much he couldn’t be that bad.

It was pouring outside. The agent, Cas, Dean remembered, showed up with sopping hair and a big soaked trench coat. He looked almost cute like that - like one of those Bassett hounds that trip over their ears.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Dean said. “I know it’s a bit of a drive.”

Cas looked at him like he was speaking in klingon or something. “It’s my job.”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck with the one arm he had.  _ Shit, will I ever get used to that?  _ “Guess you just kinda go where my old man tells you.”

“More or less.” Cas looked up at the analog clock on the hospital wall. “We should go. The drive’s a few hours, and it’s nearly 11.”

Dean nodded and followed Cas outside.

 

* * *

 

Cas had always been shit at small talk. It was one of the reasons he loved his job. Being a Secret Service consisted of a lot more staring and intimidating than it did chit-chatting. Part of his job description was basically ‘be seen and not heard’. Dean, on the other hand, had what his aunt Amara calls ‘ the gift of gab’.

They passed a Burger King and Dean said, “Oh my god. I heard they put the hot sauce right in the bun now. Is that true? Hey, Cas you had one of the burger’s where they put hot sauce in the bun?”

They passed a rest stop and Dean said, “I always hate rest stop bathrooms. They smell like urinal cakes and jizz. You ever been on a road trip? I like road trips. This is kind of a road trip.”

They passed a Cracker Barrell and Dean said, “I’m a bad motherfucker at checkers.”

“Dean.” It was the first unprompted word Cas had delivered their whole trip.

“Yeah?”

“Do you normally talk this much or is this your attempt to avoid your feelings about the event this afternoon?”

Dean let out a huff and leaned his head against the bulletproof window. “Duh, dude.”

Cas flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know if Sam told you, but I have difficulty reading social situations.”

“You seemed to read this one just fine.”

They drove on for a few moments in silence until they passed a McDonalds and Cas said, with a great deal of effort, “You know they have all-day breakfast now?”

* * *

 

Dean didn’t want to bring too much fanfare so a long argument with his father had gotten him this. One bulletproof SUV with one very well trained, very armed Secret Service agent.

Most Presidents gave their kids more security than John Winchester did. That said, Sam certainly had more than Dean. Being the President’s son and in active military duty was pretty much unheard of until Dean decided to do it. But John had supported the idea because he definitely did not believe in coddling, especially in coddling in his oldest son.

Cas parked in the cemetery’s lot and Dean followed him out of the car and they followed behind the small crowd of mourners. Dean didn’t have his prosthetic arm yet so the bottom of the sleeve of his dark grey blazer was pinned to the top. Dean kept fussing with it, feeling insecure.

It wasn’t until Dean saw the open grave that it really hit him. Gunner was dead.  _ Gone.  _ In all the things they’d done together. The friendly touches they’d shared and the dirty ones...in all of that, Dean’d never let the man kiss him.

Would the world look differently now had Dean turned his head just a few inches in the other direction?

They gathered with the other mourners near the freshly mound dirt when Dean heard woman’s tear-torn voice say to him, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Excuse me,” Dean said as Cas said, “Step back, Miss.”

She did step back, but stiffened even more than she had been and she was frowning. She was short, stocky and grey-haired. Her eyes were red and puffy. “You weren’t invited.”

By all accounts, the woman wasn’t wrong. Dean hadn’t been invited, but he’d known Gunner. Probably more so than anyone in the service. The morning Gunner died Dean had talked to him, had smiled at him, had felt his hands on hidden skin. A bubble of anger rose in his chest. He had every right to be here.

“I knew Gunner. He was in my unit in Syria.”

“I know who you are Dean Winchester. Everyone knows who you are and you’re not welcome at my son’s funeral."

Cas immediately put himself between Dean and the angry woman. Dean tried to shove his way back around Cas, but he was unmovable. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Winchester was simply here to pay respect to your son.”

Dean wasn’t a huge fan of Cas speaking for him but what else could he do?

Her voice was calm again. “The Winchesters didn’t respect my son in my life and I don’t want them to do it in death.”

Dean suddenly got it and it felt like a punch to the gut. 

_ Gunner’s gay and not in the closet.  _ Dean had never asked.

“It’s an insult to his memory that you’re here.”

She wasn't wrong.

Dean managed to step to Cas’s side. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Cas, let’s go.”

“But Dean-”

“Let’s go.”

Dean walked away from the gravesite having not seen the casket lowered into the ground, having not heard words prayed over his friend. He walked away having never kissed Gunner Lawless.

All in all, it was a pretty shitty afternoon.


End file.
